


Another's Passion

by avxry



Series: Private Fears in Public Places [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Bar, Depression, Drinking, M/M, Modern AU, Pining, arguing?, mildly sexual content, the oc is some random guy at a bar bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8761612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avxry/pseuds/avxry
Summary: "I'd rather feel your wrath than feel another's passion."
Alexander almost has a one-night-stand, but then he sees Thomas.





	

Some days are harder than others. Some days, Alexander loses all sense of feeling, cold numbness infiltrating his veins. One those days, he goes down to the bar to try to drink some emotion into himself.

It never works, but it's always worth a shot (or ten).

Today is one of those days. It drags him down like an anchor, weighing on him all day long. When he leaves work, he walks down to the bar a block or so away and sits on his usual stool in front of the usual bartender.

"Hey, Alex."

"Hey, Maria."

She smiles at him comfortingly. "What'll it be?" she asks, her voice warm and understanding as she tucks a washcloth into her pocket.

"The usual," Alexander shrugs, returning her smile as much as he can. His shoulders slump as he stares at the counter.

"Anything in particular on your mind?" Maria asks, preparing his drink. She places it in front of him and rests a hand on her hip.

Alexander shakes his head glumly, reaching for the glass and downing it in one swig. It stings as it races down his throat. "Just one of those days," he replies vaguely, dropping the glass back down on the counter.

The bartender refills it kindly, still looking at Alexander with concern. She says after a minute, "Wanna talk about it?"

Alexander purses his lips and takes a sip of his drink. "No."

Maria nods a little, wishing Alexander would just talk to her; that's half of what she's there for, anyway. Instead, she just keeps an eye on him for the next hour. He's on his third drink now. She sighs.

Alexander sits quietly, for once without words. In all honesty, this bout of depression stems from Jefferson, the fucking asshole. They fought even worse than usual today, and Alexander wants to smack himself for still having feelings for him. Instead, he just sighs and sips his drink, relishing in the blurriness that overtakes his senses. Intoxication, at least in action, is better than numbness.

After a while, Maria smirks over at him and leans on the counter. "Don't look," she says, "but that guy is staring at you."

Alexander raises an eyebrow and looks anyway. She's right; that guy _is_ staring at him, and, honestly, he's pretty cute. Alexander gives him a polite smile, his cheeks heating up a little.

The guy approaches him, introduces himself (Alexander forgets his name almost immediately), and then somehow they end up kissing. It's sloppy and gross and drunk, but Alexander keeps doing it in hopes that something will spark inside him.

All he can think about is Jefferson - how differently this would feel if it were him instead of this random stranger.

Somehow, Alexander isn't completely sure how, they leave the bar, hands all over each other, sliding into a cab. Alexander absentmindedly gives the driver the address to his apartment building.

He feels this guy underneath his hands, and objectively determines that he's attractive and knowledgeable about this sort of thing. But he still doesn't feel it. Sure, he's attracted to him and incredibly turned on, but only in a distant way. He shrugs it off, convincing himself that it's just the alcohol.

They get to his apartment building and ride the elevator up, making out the whole ride. They hear a ding and make their way into the hallway, around the corner, and then Alexander sees him.

Thomas Jefferson has his hair tied back, holding a basket of laundry and fumbling with his key. He hears the commotion of the other men and turns to look at them.

Their eyes meet, and Alexander really wants to believe that there isn't any hurt in Thomas's eyes. It would make this affair a hell of a lot easier.

But nonetheless, the look on Thomas's face does show traces of hurt, and it's all Alexander needs to stop trying to convince himself that he's okay with this.

He shoves the guy, who had been sucking on his neck, away. The guy looks incredibly offended, but Alexander just mumbles an apology and ignores him, walking to his apartment door.

Thomas is still watching him, basket on his hip. Alexander stands before his door and waits for the random guy to go away before banging his head on it.

Thomas gives him a look. "Rough night?" There's still something in his look, in his voice.

Alexander looks over, eyes wide and dazed. His lips still feel numb from the kissing, but he would give anything to feel Thomas's skin on them. He sighs instead. "You have no idea."

Thomas shifts the basket to his other hip, raising an eyebrow. He points behind him and asks, "So who was that?"

Alexander shakes his head, turning around to lean his back on the door. "I don't even know."

Thomas feels uncomfortable, to say the least, but as he stands there, he notices how ruffled Alexander seems, how distressed. He doesn't know what to do, just knows that a pang of jealously struck through him when he saw Alexander with that guy. Still, he plays it cool. "He was cute," he shrugs nonchalantly. "Why'd you send him away?"

Alexander doesn't know how to answer this question. Actually, he does; he just doesn't think saying _because he isn't you_ is a very appropriate response. He stares at Thomas, trying to think of a way to subtly tell him without actually telling him anything at all.

He can't think of anything. He just says, "He's not . . . He's not right."

"Right?" Thomas echoes, desperately wishing that Alexander would just come out and say that he wanted _Thomas_ , not some random guy. But that will never happen. He tries to shove it from his mind. "What's that mean?"

"Why do you care?" Alexander snaps, defending himself despite not being attacked. "Why can't you just leave me alone? Let me have my mistakes!"

"Jesus, I was just asking!" Thomas exclaims, throwing a hand up. He shifts the basket again. "You don't have to start acting like an asshole!"

"Newsflash, Jefferson," Alexander replies, "I _am_ an asshole!"

"Yeah, I guess you are!" Thomas retorts angrily, fuming, wishing that this passion between them was put to better use. He huffs, shoves his key into his lock, and pushes through the door, shutting it behind him angrily.

Alexander is left in the hall alone, sobered slightly from his outburst. He curses. He hadn't wanted to fight - he wanted the literal opposite.

He lets out a groan and walks into his apartment, locking the door behind him and slipping off his shoes. He drops into the bed clumsily.

He realizes that the little argument with Thomas had been the only time today he had really felt anything. Sure, the stranger's passion had been attractive, but Thomas's wrath had been even more so.

He falls asleep wishing he hadn't yelled at Thomas and had kissed him instead.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel as if this was the most cliche thing?? but I kind of like it?? idk???
> 
> a note: Christmas break is coming up, and since I don't have wifi at my house, my updating will become literally awful, so it unfortunately might be a while before I post much else. I hate it but I don't really have a choice, I'm very sorry 
> 
> thank you so much for reading, and I hope you're enjoying reading these as much as I'm enjoying writing them!!


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